


Steady, But Trembling

by articas_ursula



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alpha Brian May, Alpha Roger Taylor, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta John Deacon, Brian Is A Sucker For Freddie And Can't Deny Him Anything, Deaky Takes No Shit From Any Of Them, Freddie Breaks A Piano And Low-Key Sells His Omega Pheromones To Replace It, Freddie Will Do Damage To Anyone Who Hurts Deaky, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Freddie Mercury, Omega Verse, Omegas Are Super Rare, Pheromones, Roger Is Slight Better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articas_ursula/pseuds/articas_ursula
Summary: “That’s my future mate,” Roger openly admitted to John when asked several months ago. There was no sense of obligation to it, it was simply a fact that they were too in each other’s pockets to go any other way. “He and I both like a good party. But once I put my teeth in him, he’s mine. The rest of this stupid shit stops. And he and I aren’t ready for that yet.”After Queen sells their van to record their debut album, Freddie accidentally destroys a very expensive piece of Trident Studios equipment. Desperate, Freddie falls back on old, dangerous tricks to scrape together enough money to replace it.





	1. The Game

**Steady, But Trembling**

articas_ursula (AO3)

artica’s-ursula (FFN)

* * *

Chapter 1: The Game

* * *

_Roger’s heart just about stopped._

_ “Holy _shit_,” came from three different directions as Freddie disappeared from view, toppling from his makeshift stage atop the magnificent grand piano that collapsed under him with a visceral crash. _

* * *

Roger couldn’t believe it. They had only arrived at Trident Studios three hours ago. 

Three hours. 

How could they have destroyed a ten thousand quid piece of equipment in _three bloody hours_!?

In all fairness, things had started off rather well. They’d all been excited about the professional-grade instruments in the room, but Freddie had been absolutely worshipful of the brand new glossy black piano. He’d sat mooning over the smart ivory keys and perfectly tuned notes as Roger, Brian and Deaky congratulated each other over and over again with compounding enthusiasm on recording their_ first album in a real studio, blood hell! _

Even what they’d initially regarded as god awful luck that morning had turned itself around to be an absolute weapon. When Freddie had informed them that his trimonthly heat would arrive sometime later that day, his bandmates had dreaded the distracted, slightly agitated version of Freddie that usually preceded it. What they got instead was a vat of Omega mating instincts boiling over a fucking fire.

“Can we play that a bit differently?” Brian asked, frowning down at his guitar strings after their fifth attempt to run through_ Keep Yourself Alive _. There was a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin as he attempted to shrug off the dynamic magnetism hotwiring the room. Roger was no better off, shoving up his sleeves and swiping at his brow between segments of the song. Deaky alone remained unaffected.

Freddie was on _fire_. 

Roger wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or kill him for it. Every single fucking thing Freddie did today was deliciously provocative and laced with suggestion. _Liar _, which they’d finished an hour ago, had been almost indecent because of it. 

Bloody hell, just looking at him made Roger want a cigarette.

Freddie leaned over his piano, arching his back in an errotic imitation of a stretch. “I’m sure I can accommodate anything you can think of, darling.”

“I bet you could,” Roger purred from the drum rises, wiggling his eyebrows at Freddie below him.

The Omega grinned coyly up at him, automatically bringing up his hand to hide his teeth. 

“Don’t you think so, Robert?” Roger tacked on innocently, ignoring Deaky’s disapproving look.

Robert, the young sound technician sent along by Trident to run the recording equipment, had been nearly silent for the entire session. He worked the soundbooth like a seasoned professional, but managed only a handful of words in the nearly three hours they’d been there. _ Yes. No. Sounds great_. Roger would have been tempted to think him a bit simple if he hadn’t accidentally flicked one of his drumsticks near the floor by Robert’s desk. Leaning over to retrieve it, he happened to notice the bulge in his pants the Alpha was presumably attempting to will away.

Roger had been amusing himself with the knowledge ever since.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Deaky cut in kindly to save Robert from embarrassing himself. Deaky, a Beta, surely realized what was going on despite not being affected by it even as Freddie sauntered over to lazily hang off his arm. The Omega’s pre-heat scent was driving every Alpha to distraction. Deaky took the time to shoot Roger a warning look that the Alpha knew better than to ignore, but it turned into a glared when Robert bolted from the room, claiming to need the restroom. 

“What?” Roger asked, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers after Robert had gone. “What did I do?”

“You’re antagonizing him for fun,” Deaky accused, which Roger thought was a bit unfair.

“Fred’s the one baiting him!”

The three of them paused, turning to look at the man in question. Freddie, cuddled up against Deaky, just smiled pleasantly at his band mates.

Bloody hell, Roger could _murder _a cigarette.

“Whatever.” His Alpha ego bristled with dark, heady frustration. Freddie had been driving him crazy all day, which came out fantastically in his drumming but poorly in his attitude. “Hide behind Deaky. That’s mature!”

“Jealous that I’m his favorite, dear?”

Roger gave him a smoldering look. “I could show you a few moves that’d make me _your _favorite.”

Freddie slowly ran his tongue over his teeth in answer.

Brian cut through their flirting with a jarring strike of chaotic notes. When he had their attention, he pointed at them sternly. “Both of you _stop._ Let’s go again.”

_ This from the man that went at it with two Beta birds all last night, _ Roger rolled his eyes. Brian was no prude, but every now and then he would tap the brakes on Roger and Freddie’s games as though to make sure they still worked. It was hard to fault him for trying to avoid the fallout if they were stupid enough to attempt a one night stand but Jesus Christ, it was _1973_. What was wrong with a bit of a flirt? The old rules of _proper _Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamic etiquette were lame; passé. Courting and waiting till bonding to fuck? No way. It was all happening now, man. 

He glanced at Freddie, still clinging to Deaky’s arm and chattering away as the Beta patiently waited to be released.

Well... mostly, anyway. It was like he’d said though, wasn’t it?

“That’s my future mate,” Roger had openly admitted to John when asked several months ago. There was no sense of obligation to it, it was simply a fact that they were too in each other’s pockets to go any other way. “He and I both like a good party. But once I put my teeth in him, he’s _mine_. The rest of this stupid shit stops. And he and I aren’t ready for that yet.”

As Brian liked, they played the song through with a quicker tempo. They’d gotten to the middle of_ Keep Yourself Alive _and Roger couldn’t stop himself from eyeing Freddie up, egging him on with a low, dirty whistle as he scooted onto the piano lid, reclining provocatively atop it without taking his eyes off Roger, declaring: _but if I crossed a million rivers and I rode a million miles then I'd still be where I started, same as when I started _ and--

Roger’s heart just about stopped.

“Holy _shit_,” came from three different directions as Freddie disappeared from view, toppling from his makeshift stage atop the magnificent grand piano that collapsed under him with a visceral _crash _.

The three of them scrambled madly to his side, Roger in the lead, vaulting down from his drum rises with his heart thundering in his chest. Freddie lay on his back with his eyes tightly shut, groaning low in his throat. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Deaky demanded, hovering alongside Brian as Roger crouched over Freddie, running his hands swiftly over his body, checking for injuries. “You could have killed yourself up there!”

“You idiot,” Roger added like he’d had nothing to do with it. He was pretty sure he was given away by the shakiness of his words though.

Freddie grimaced but gripped the hand offered to him by his blond Alpha bandmate. “I’m fine, darling. I’m sure I’ve had worse than that… though admittedly not in recent memory.”

Roger pulled him to his feet, cutting off the growl in his throat as Brian peered over his shoulder to take a look at Freddie too. 

_ It’s just _Brian _for god’s sake, _he told himself. Fuck he was rattled. Still, Freddie seemed okay besides having the wind knocked out of him. He brushed it off quick enough, but as blasé as Freddie was about the fall, he quickly changed his tune as he looked back at the wreckage he’d been pulled from. 

The gorgeous piano was ruined; totally ruined. 

Brian also stared wide-eyed at the mess. “Bloody hell, Freddie,” he breathed. “They’re going to _sue _.”

“What’re we going to do?” Freddie gasped. His hands fluttered ineffectively at his sides. “We’re broke as it is! The van barely covered a week of recording. We can’t afford this!”

Deaky pointed at him. “I told you not to do it!”

“No you didn’t! When did you ever say anything _like_ that?!”

The sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall made the four of them freeze. Without thinking, Roger gave Freddie’s arm a sharp tug until he was safely hidden behind him. A short distance away, Deaky was staring at the door with a sort of mute horror.

Nobody dared speak. It was as though maybe whoever it was would go away if they just—

_ Knock knock. _

“Hey, I’m back. Is everything okay? I thought I heard a crash.”

Brian let out the air he’d been holding in a shuddering breath. 

_ It’s Robert, _ Roger mouthed at him like he hadn’t noticed. “Do something!” he added in a low, urgent whisper to no one in particular.

“Like _what_?!” Deaky hissed, accidentally volunteering himself.

“I don’t know—stall!” Roger was steering the Beta towards the door now, surrendering Freddie to Brian’s care. From the corner of his eye, he saw Freddie move agitatedly forward--he was quite protective of Deaky and didn’t like him getting very far out of his sight around his heats--but thankfully Brian held him back. “Deaky, come on! You’re the only one with a poker face right now!”

“What good’s that going to do? It’s not like you can throw a blanket over it and no one will notice!”

Still, Deaky opened the door under his own power, squeezing himself out through the smallest crack he could manage. Roger saw him fake an expression of surprise upon ‘noticing’ the Alpha standing in the hallway before pulling the door shut. 

“Oh! Hi Robert...” Deaky seemed to cast around for something else to say but came up empty, leaving the sentence hanging awkwardly. “What’s—uh—what’s up?”

Roger winced. _So much for a poker face. _

“Yeah, sorry, I had to use the bathroom… I thought I heard a crash. What happened?”

“‘What happened?’” Deaky parotted outside the door, stalling.

“Yeah, what happened?” 

Meanwhile, Roger had no idea what to do. He kind of hoped Brian had a clue and it looked like he did. Still, Roger was a bit taken aback when, instead of whispering the plan, Brian yelled it at him instead.

“I NEVER AGREED TO THAT DRUM SOLO!” Brian suddenly shouted at him and _what the fuck? _Indignant , Roger opened his mouth to ask exactly that but Brian gestured frantically at him and he caught on at the last second. 

“YES YOU BLOODY WELL DID!” Roger loudly put at him. “MAYBE YOU’D REMEMBER IF YOU WEREN’T UP TO ALL HOURS WASTED!”

“YEAH, GREAT—YOU’RE SOBER ALL THE FUCKING TIME, RIGHT?”

“They’re fighting,” they heard Deaky finally speak. It was only because Roger knew him so well that he could hear the relief. “I don’t think you should go in there.”

“AT LEAST I KEEP OFF THE BRANDY!” Despite the dire situation, Freddie cracked a tight smile as Roger picked up the glass of it he’d been nursing for the last twenty minutes and downed it as a shot.

“Is the Omega in there? They shouldn’t be fighting around him. They’re fragile.”

Across from him, Brian’s incredulous expression was hilarious and the reason for it was obvious. Freddie was complicit in almost every dispute that took place around him, even if he wasn’t at the epicenter. That man loved drama like nothing else. 

There was a short silence as Deaky came up with a quick lie.

“He’s out already. You know, heat preparation.” 

It was a solid alibi, but Roger noticed Freddie look surley about it. Omegas didn’t give out information on their breeding cycles casually. Still, Deaky was doing some major verbal hustling on his behalf, so he really couldn’t complain. 

“THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE ALWAYS TAKING MY VODKA INSTEAD!”

“GOD KNOWS I CAN’T STAND YOU WITHOUT IT!”

“We’re wrapping up for the day,” Deaky announced.

“Uh, sure thing. I’ll see you all Tuesday morning? It’s a banking holiday Monday, remember.”

It was Friday afternoon now and Roger wasn’t about to turn down an extra day to figure out what the hell they were going to do. The studio was closed over the weekend, so no one would be poking around for a little while yet.

“He’s gone?” Freddie whispered urgently around thirty seconds later, pulling the door open a crack.

“He’s gone,” Deaky reported as Freddie dragged him back inside and kicked the door shut. 

“I’ll sort this,” Freddie insisted firmly. “I broke it, I’ll fix it.”

_ Fuck it. _ Ignoring the no smoking sign, Roger lit a fag, fuming. “Selling the van barely covered hiring this bloody room.” He exhaled a long stream of smoke before Freddie snatched it away to quickly take a drag himself. “What do you think you’re going to do in the next three days? You’ll be out of your mind nearly the whole time!”

Freddie scowled at him but couldn’t deny the situation for what it was. 

Brain stared at the destroyed piano in the ensuing silence for a few seconds. “We ought to just come clean.”

“_No_.” Freddie shook his head. “No way. There’ll be a charge to replace the piano, a charge for the inconvenience, a charge for doing it in the first place, and a charge for breathing their air at the time!”

“What do you suggest we do?” 

“Never you mind,” Freddie told him, snatching up his jacket and making a dramatic exit. 

_ Jesus Christ. _“Where the fuck is he going?” Roget complained, flicking ash from the end of his fag.

No one could answer that.

* * *

Two years ago, when Queen was Smile and the four of them were collectively poorer than church mice, a Beta school friend named Kenny had told Freddie in passing about an acquaintance in his business management class that was looking to launch a company. He told Freddie in an undertone that the pharmaceutical company Phoebe proposed specialized in taking raw Omega pheromones and creating perfumes, colognes, and Alpha rut enhancers. 

The latter was a vaguely scandalous undertaking. Rut enhancers were grouped together with sex toys, though Freddie couldn’t see why. Rut enhancers eased the distress of single Alphas going through their ruts without a mate and especially helped with the aftermath of an unsuccessful Alpha breeding cycle. Single Alphas were prone to episodes of deep depression after spending a rut alone, to say nothing of the destruction they inflicted upon their possessions in the throws of frustration. 

Freddie, an exhausted full-time student working part time at Heathrow Airport as well as at his and Roger’s stall in Kensington Market, couldn’t help but ask after the business every now and then. In those days, he and Roger both ate cereal three times a day just to be able to have a meal. Their rent was nearly always late and once Roger had to ask his parents for money to cover the heating bill. 

Freddie hated it.

“Oh, Phoebe’s making a go of it alright!” Kenny would tell him at the beginning of it all. “He’s rounding up investors now. He’s keen as anything.”

After awhile, the reports on Phoebe’s progress took a more downhearted turn.

“The investors say none of the scents are appealing strongly enough to their test Alphas,” Kenny had told him dejectedly one night. They were smoking together on the balcony of some house party, the host of which Freddie didn’t know. “They’re going to back out.”

They stood there in silence for awhile, puffing their cigarette smoke into the frigid London air and listening absently to the loud Jimi Hendrix record emanating from the sliding glass doors behind them. 

Kenny seemed to think that was the end of that, but the next day Freddie cornered him unexpectedly at university on his way to business class. He stuffed a crumpled paper bag into Kenny’s hand.

“Pass that to Phoebe.”

“Huh?” Kenny blinked, turning the thing over in his hand. When he made to open it, Freddie stopped him.

“Just… come on, darling. Give that to the bloke that’s trying to start the scent business. See what he says. But you better fucking swear it that you won’t tell him anything about me.”

It wasn’t the strangest request Freddie had made of him, so Kenny agreed with only a raised brow. He vanished into the classroom and Freddie kept walking. His hands were sweating, but more than that, he stomach was growling. 

They’d run out of cereal that morning. Freddie had borrowed five quid from Brian to buy more after lessons today.

Freddie _hated _this.

Two days later, it was Kenny’s turn to ambush Freddie outside the art classroom.

“I don’t know what you had me give Phoebe,” Kenny began without greeting him, “but holy_ shit_, Fred. He’s got all his investors back _and _an advance so he can start production. He told me to give you this.”

The same brown paper bag that Freddie had sent off with three drops of his own pheromones in a plastic ziplock baggie was handed back to him now. Peeking inside made Freddie just about choke.

Two hundred quid. In _cash _.

“Cor,” Freddie breathed, stuffing the notes back into the bag. He’d never physically held so much money in his life. He glanced about nervously to make sure no one had seen it before looking back to Kenny, who met his gaze solemnly. 

He’d known Kenny’s business major friend would be interested. Every Omega produced potent liquid pheromones in the scent gland on either side of their neck that were pushed out in minute quantities to aerosolize around them and attract mates. In nearly every case, an Omega’s scent was a static signature that moved through three shades of itself: 

Equilibrium: the neutral state an Omega existed in outside their two breeding-centered ones.

Pre-heat: how an Omega’s pheromones reflected the quickening of heat up to twenty hours before it occurred by sharpening its scent to a fine point.

Heat: the event itself as the scent reached its most intoxicating pitch.

And then back to equilibrium to repeat the cycle. 

Freddie’s was… different. 

Perhaps 99.9% of Omegas possessed a stable scent signature that merely became more or less intense depending on where in their breeding cycle they were. That magic 0.1%, though, displayed what scientists referred to as the biological advancement of Omega evolution. 

That was Freddie.

His scent changed to perfectly match what the person smelling it found most appealing. The chameleon effect, they called it in the literature. Freddie was determined to find out just how much it was worth.

“He’s serious, Freddie. He wants to meet you.”

As overwhelming as the situation was, Freddie was decisive at least on this. 

“We can’t meet, dear. This has to be absolutely anonymous. What if my parents found out?” Freddie pointed at him. He couldn’t even imagine what his extremely traditional Beta parents would say but the word _disown _would probably be thrown around. “You have to be our go-between. You’re the one in a business management course; this could be good for you too.”

In the end, Freddie never met Phoebe in person but reached an agreement with him and Kenny, who continued to be sworn to silence. Once every three months, Freddie would draw out a total of 50 mL liquid pheromones over the course of a few days in his equilibrium and sometimes pre-heat state and deliver them to Kenny, who would in turn send them off to the small laboratory Phoebe had hired on the other end of town. Kenny would earn himself a tidy sum for his trouble and Freddie made five months’ rent plus utilities _plus _groceries every round.

Things started getting better.

The first thing Freddie did was pay back Brian. Then Roger for his half of the heating bill his parents had paid for. Then he marched down to the local charity shop and bought the shitty-looking piano that still carried a tune he’d had his eye on for months.

_ Then _Freddie quit his job at Heathrow.

He didn’t live extravagantly and told no one of what he had done. He hoarded the income his pheromones brought in and tried very hard to ignore the steadily increasing popularity of the scents made with them by ABO Pharmaceuticals: the name Phoebe ended up picking for his company. 

Omegas were rare after all--5% of the world’s population to be exact--and the chameleon trait was rarer still. It would only take two people putting their heads together and agreeing that, yes, his scent smelled different to each of them for someone to connect the dots. Fortunately for him, such frank conversations were classed as uncomfortably vulgar, and so despite having been to many an Alpha’s bed, Freddie’s highly coveted quirk was never mentioned even as the scent line it enervated,_ Omega No. 1_, exploded as an overnight sensation. Something about getting on the bus and realizing the Beta next to him was wearing his scent in its perfume form was just unnerving. 

Still, it was how he’d met Mary.

_ “You’re wearing _Omega No. 1_.” _

_ Just the mention of the brand made Feddie tense, but the girl who voiced it, a lovely Beta named Mary, just continued to smile at him next to her boutique store's display of perfumes and colognes that, unbeknownst to her, were based on Freddie’s pheromones. _

_ “It smells perfect on you.” _

_ Freddie covered his teeth with a hand to hide an ironic laugh. “Do you think, darling? I’ve wondered if it’s a bit larger than life with the way media talks it up lately.” _

_ Mary, who Freddie would shortly learn was a fan of the scent line, disagreed immediately. “It needs someone larger than life to live up to it is all.” _

_ Freddie smiled, forgetting to be self conscious in light of such a wonderful thought. He ended up buying a bottle to continue the charade of blaming his scent’s likeness to it on the use of the product and cementing their friendship with a long conversation about how out of fashion scent blockers had become. Even just ten years ago no one would have dared to leave the house without masking their scent with product. Now here they were spritzing it on. _

Everything was going great. 

Until one day, Freddie slid his collection needle in through the scent gland on the left side of his neck and thick yellow pus came out.

“It’s infected!” Freddie told Kenny in a hushed panic. They had agreed to meet after classes and were conferring in the empty history section of the university library. Freddie had just come from the student health office, terrified by the assessment the doctor had provided him with. “They said I could lose it if I don’t ‘stop whatever I’m doing’ right now!”

“Shit.” Kenny dragged a hand through his hair. “_Shit_!”

“I can’t lose my scent gland, darling. This is where I have to quit.”

He let out a long, rough breath but didn’t argue. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

And that was that.

Phoebe had reportedly been horrified but understanding of the situation. In the year they had done business together, Freddie had made him a very rich man. ABO Pharmaceuticals had by that point become a posh national brand with hundreds of Omega scents. When the company had announced the end of _Omega No. 1_, its very first and most popular scent line, it had set off a huge media frenzy, which Phoebe weathered admirably.

To Freddie, Phoebe sent along a massive bouquet of flowers in various shades of Freddie’s favorite color, yellow: calla lilies, roses, tulips, daffodils, and sunflowers. It was terribly showy and expensive-looking and when Kenny dutifully showed up with it on the doorstep of the flat shared by Freddie and Roger when Brian and John were visiting, Roger immediately teased Freddie about landing himself a sugar daddy. 

The Omega didn’t mind the teasing, gently caressing the fullest bloom and unfolding the little card that came with it.

_ Dear Omega No. 1: _

_ Even if we never meet, thanks for everything! _

_ -Phoebe _

Smiling, Freddie tucked the note into his pocket to burn later. It would be hard going back to not having a solid source of income, but he wouldn’t miss the pain and stress of how he’d earned it.

And that truly seemed to be the end of it all.

Until now.

* * *

The position he found himself in fourteen hours later was terribly reminiscent to two years ago.

Freddie sighed and, checking that the door was locked, attached the tubing of the collection bag to the back of a fresh needle. He didn’t like this. Like most Omegas, he had rituals of habit to perform before his heat that he was now skipping to do this instead. 

Heats weren’t meant to start so_ chaotically _. 

Kenny had answered casually when he’d rung just after leaving the studio but quickly became serious when Freddie had told him the reason he’d called. 

“Are you sure, Fred?” he asked uncertainly after letting the whole story play out over the phone. “It was pretty hard on you last time.”

“I’ve got to fix this thing, darling.” Freddie toyed with the phone cord in the call box down the street from Trident Studios, anxiously glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “It’s a ten thousand quid piano.”

“Fucking hell! I mean, sure I’ll ask, but that’s a lot of money for Phoebe to put up front. Especially with no contract or anything in writing.”

It was a lot to ask, Freddie had to admit. Phoebe had been a pretty understanding guy when all of them were broke university students trying to scrape by. He’d never asked for Freddie’s information and never tried to legally lock him into anything. ABO Pharmaceuticals was a multi-million quid company now, though. Freddie had to give him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“He can’t afford to say no. I’m offering my heat pheromones on this batch.”

Now. 

While equilibrium pheromones were suitable for perfumes, and pre-heat pheromones were enough to soothe a rut, the purpose put to heat pheromones was much more taboo.

“Let’s be really clear here,” Kenny said after a minute. “They’re going to make a sex toy out of your scent. You got that, right?”

“Yes.”

Over the line, Kenny exhaled loudly into the phone receiver. “Jesus _Christ_. Okay, okay--I’ll call him.”

“Right now, darling. Can you? I’m going into it in a few hours. I need an answer fast.”

“Yeah, I’ll call now. Hopefully I can get ahold of him. We aren’t exactly in touch anymore. Just--stay there. I’ll call you right back.”

It took twenty-five minutes for Kenny to get back to him, and when he did he sounded like he couldn’t even believe it.

“Ten thousand,” the Beta told him gleefully. “And another thousand so you’ll think well of him! And I don’t mind telling you he put in a thousand my way to make sure I’m thinking good thoughts too. Twelve thousand quid, Fred--holy _shittt _!”

Freddie smile was strained. “Excellent, darling. Did he arrange--?”

“I’m coming over with the kit as soon as the courier gets here with it.”

As though on cue, an echoing rap on Kenny’s end of the phone line interrupted the conversation.

“...Well,” Kenny said after a pause. “That’ll be the delivery. He’s really quite keen, isn’t he?”

True to form, everything had been delivered in perfect order. He showed up at Freddie’s door with an unobtrusive box and a crumpled paper bag like they used to use when Kenny was running all over town after them. 

_ For old time’s sake_, Phoebe wrote. 

Inside was eleven thousand quid. 

Cash.

“Lucky you called. I’ve got a new mic for the radio show I’ve been eyeing. That cut from Phoebe means I can pop by Coltain’s for it on my way home!” Kenny grinned, naming a high-end London studio equipment retailer. Freddie had been to Coltain-Bradbury before to stare longingly at the beautiful selection of pianos while accompanying Brian to buy a new set of guitar strings.

Once Kenny had emptied his ratty old backpack, three sterile kits and a pack of extra needles were placed carefully on Freddie’s battered kitchen table. Back in the day, Phoebe only bothered with one kit and two needles: an heir and a spare. It was kind of him to consider that Freddie was out of practice and multiple sticks would likely be necessary, but all Freddie could think was: _fuck this is going to hurt. _

Reading the mood of the room at last, Kenny cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ah--I’ll leave you to it, shall I? I pop ‘round on Tuesday? Early?”

“Yeah,” Freddie agreed with a slow sigh. His upper lip curled down over his teeth. He had the money, but Roger had been right: how was he going to arrange everything to be sorted when he was a mindlessly sex machine for three days straight?

“I’ll see myself out, then.”

As Kenny turned to go, Freddie suddenly called him back. 

“Kenny dear, won’t you do me a favor actually...?”

* * *

To catch heat rather than pre-heat pheromones, Freddie had to time this very carefully. He could only start drawing them out as he felt the edges of his mind begin to fray and his focus slide as his Omega mind began to take control with its own set of priorities. 

It was the worst feeling ever but Freddie slowly tapped into the scent gland on his neck’s left side. Only the muscle memory of performing this procedure so often on himself allowed the Omega to land the thick needle a hair’s breadth from his artery. Certainly he’d had no skill at such a thing before, as Kenny could attest to back when Freddie would practice under his admittedly unhelpful supervision. After many months and much hand wringing and nail biting on Kenny’s part, Freddie had tentatively become proficient enough to attempt the stick without his friend present and ready to dial 999. 

Not that it was always easy, of course.

“Come on.” Freddie winced as he was forced to withdraw and select a new needle. Blood drizzled from the site and the sharp pain of it was starting to make him nauseous. The visceral discomfort that went with this was like trying to insert a needle into your eye. Everything inside Freddie cringed away from it and_ fucking hell_ he remembered now why he was so relieved to stop doing this despite the heavy payoff.

The year of extracting pheromones had left tiny silver scars the size of pin pricks all around the surface of the skin protecting his scent glands. He used to be good at this, so he picked a scar, trusting that the needle it represented had struck true, and delicately pushed in.

Thankfully, this was just the ticket. The fluid that slowly filled the tubing, and then the bag, was a clear liquid. It looked like water, but with an iridescent finish. This was a very specific flavor of agony but Freddie breathed through it as the negative pressure drew the liquid pheromones out. By the time the flow slowed only 15 mL had come out, but that was okay; heat pheromones held twenty times the kick of everyday ones. In the end, he managed to cap the needle, clamp off the bag, and clumsily toss the whole thing in the corner before his heat could take over fully enough that he might destroy it offhandedly _just_ _because_. 

He knew what Roger’d say about all this. 

“Stick with being a musical prostitute, Fred,” Roger would say, grinning. “You’re not cut out to be a real one.”

With a groan, Freddie threw himself back on his bed, his dark hair fanning around him. His scent gland ached and burned into his neck, mildly shocked at being drained so suddenly. It used to be the case that Freddie drained it so often that it grew used to producing more and pained him when left alone.

The soft sound of crumpling paper under his bed sheets made Freddie reluctantly roll over to fish out whatever he was lying on. He groped around under his back for whatever rejected sketch he’d discarded there and came up instead with a ziplocked bag he didn’t recognize. When he broke open the seal, however, he knew immediately who it was from.

_ Roger_.

It was his white undershirt that he wore to bed. It seemed that Roger had slipped back to their flat while Freddie went to call on Kenny, leaving it stuffed under his pillow along with a note, which Freddie unfolded.

_ One day, I’ll stay. _

_ -R _

A bittersweet ache filled his heart to go with the throbbing against his neck and growing heat in his lower abdomen as Freddie inhaled a scent that reminded him of the comforting smoke of a fireplace with a warm, earthy undertone and a tinge of sweat. A sharp jolt of arousal rocketed through him, making him gasp. Good lord Roger was the flightiest thing around but he knew just what to say to make Freddie’s heart pick up the pace. They weren’t ready for forever, but on days like this, Freddie though he was getting damn close.

_ One day. _

But not today.

Feddie took another breath of Roger’s Alpha scent and felt his heat swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Roger is freaking out. How the hell are they going to pay for the expensive piano Freddie broke!? It's a good job Roger likes the Omega or he would have surely killed him off by now. The tension in Roger and Freddie's not-relationship comes and goes, but through it all they're still soulmates, so come what may.


	2. No Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time: Roger is freaking out. How the hell are they going to pay for the expensive piano Freddie broke!? It's a good job Roger likes the Omega or he would have surely killed him off by now. The tension in Roger and Freddie's not-relationship comes and goes, but through it all they're still soulmates, so come what may.

**Steady, But Trembling**

articas_ursula (AO3)

artica’s-ursula (FFN)

* * *

Chapter 2: No Consequences

* * *

_“I could stay, darling,” Freddie offered quietly. _

_Roger tensed. When Freddie said stuff like that, the meaning was more like “we could stay.” And “_we_" was fucking terrifying._

_It was too huge and _soon_. _

_What about sleeping around and flirting in bathrooms and pranking strangers? Roger’s parents had married young too and now they despised each other. He couldn’t stand the thought of hating Freddie--or worse: what if Freddie came to hate _him_?--and if he screwed things up with him, then that was it. _

_There was no one else for Roger._

* * *

Roger was freaking out.

Three days had come and gone and they had no plan. 

_ Nothing_.

He’d thought about ringing his parents for money, but not only was he on shaky ground with his father--how the hell were they going to spot him a few_ thousand _ quid? There was his and Freddie’s stall in Kensington Market with all their stock, but really, if they could have sold it off, they would have by now. Brian and Deaky had rushed to sell their old textbooks but Roger had (ill-advisedly) lit his on fire as soon as he’d quit dental school--cheered on, of course, by Freddie.

Who was currently nowhere to be seen.

“We should just get it over with,” Roger announced, not moving.

“Yeah,” Deaky agreed. “You get it over with first.”

The hallway between the front door and the studio hadn’t seemed this short on Friday, but it was Tuesday morning now and Roger seriously wished it’d go on forever. He’d found Brian and Deaky loitering around front, equally reluctant to be the first to face the inevitable wrath of Trident Studios’ management. 

Freddie had been the one to break the piano, but despite how shaken they all were by it (and pissed off, it had to be said), it hadn’t occurred to any of them to leave Freddie on the hook alone. They were family--a pack, as old folks called it--and family bailed each other out. 

It just so happened that today they had a lot of shit to bail.

“I can’t believe he ditched us to do this on our own,” Roger said sourly. 

Brian tried for the benefit of the doubt, as usual. “Well, he must be exhausted. He probably finished up his heat really early this morning--”

“Yeah, I know my own bloody Omega’s heat schedule, _ thanks_.”

Beside them, Deaky let out a long, bracing groan before squaring his shoulders. Roger reluctantly admired his resolve as the Beta marched down the hall, his friends scrambling after him. His own palms were clammy as they approached the studio door and Roger wiped them absently on his bell bottom jeans. He and Freddie had gotten up to this and that over the years, but they’d never been in _ legal _ trouble before. 

_ God_, they were too fucking broke for this. 

Deaky’s resolute stance wavered at the end of the hall. Roger didn’t mind. If they could stall going through with this, Deaky could take till next Christmas. 

“Just give me a second,” he said, as though to urging. 

“Believe me Deacon, trying to get through that door first is the last thing on my mind.”

_ Why did he have to hop on something so expensive? Bloody Napoleon Complex. _

Roger was still watching his friend hesitate, flexing his fingers for a few seconds as though preparing to enter hell itself, when a sudden trace of a very familiar scent made Roger contradict his earlier claim by abruptly knocking into him and yanking the door open himself. He heard Deaky curse behind him, but didn’t turn around to address it. 

A neatly groomed man in a suit and tie that exuded wealth was already inside. Despite the severity of the situation, Roger ignored him to hone in on the slight form of Freddie, lounging opposite them on the sofa in a flamboyant bone-white jacket that reminded him of a lizard, looking for all the world like he owned the place. 

He seemed exhausted but shockingly calm.

“Good of you to show up!” the stranger commented cheerfully, sipping from a carry-out coffee cup. “Freddie and I have been chatting for an hour already. He’s simply a delight!”

_ A delight_, Freddie mouthed at Roger triumphantly. 

Roger might not have known exactly what was going on, but he gave that the doubtful look it deserved.

“Come in, come in. Let me introduce myself.”

Finally, Roger noticed. 

And stared.

The piano was… perfectly whole. It might’ve even looked better now than it did when they first saw it on Friday with a mirror-like black gloss finish and not a key touched. The unknown Alpha didn’t even glance at it as he set his drink down. “Boys, I’ve had quite the conversation with...” 

Roger took a long, shaky breath, held it, and released it in a long, disbelieving rattle. He felt almost lightheaded at the suddenness with which the massive weight he’d been carrying around the last three days was dispelled. Roger had barely slept, barely eaten, but suddenly everything was… fine? The sheer relief of it took his breath away, but even as it chased away the sense of impending doom, suspicion immediately replaced it. 

“--John Reid of EMI. One of our scouts sent your demo to my desk--”

“What did you _ do_?” Roger hissed in Freddie’s ear, using the distraction of whatever was going on to slide into the seat next to him. 

Freddie gave him a long, appraising look and oh boy did Roger know what that meant. He had seen Freddie get away with epically wild shit by pure consequence of people not expecting it from an Omega. Ironically, it used to upset Freddie that he was treated so carefully, but he’d had his own way of embracing it in the end. He just started making it so taxing for anyone to treat him as less than capable that they simply couldn’t afford to keep doing it.

“Why do you assume I did anything wrong, darling?” Apparently Freddie really thought he had a shot at acting offended. 

“It saves time.”

“Well that’s rather unfair.”

“Do I look like Brian to you?” Roger asked.

It was impossible to dispute that Brian, whose favorite pastime was telling Roger variations of “no,” went ridiculously easy on Freddie, even if he was aware he was dealing with a gremlin. The other Alpha was only slightly better about it now than when they’d first started out years ago. Brian had let Freddie get away with murder back then, raised as a _ proper _ Englishman as he was. It was impolite to take an Omega to task after all. Still, Roger barely thought Brian had any spine to speak of, especially when Freddie hung off his arm, looked up at him with those huge doe eyes, and started his sentence with _ Brimi_. 

Freddie gave him a sour look. “No. You’re not nearly as nice to me. I told you I’d square it away dear.”

“How _ specifically _ though?”

“Never you mind.”

“What do you mean _ never I mind_? Do you have any idea what you put me through this weekend!?”

“So. What makes Queen any different than the hundreds of other wannabes I see every day?”

Roger paused in his hissed interrogation of Freddie to look up, surveying the suit with a more critical eye this time.

“That’s Elton John’s manager.”

His neck twisted back so he could stare at Freddie, who had whispered it to him. “_What_?”

But Freddie wasn’t listening anymore, instead speaking with his casual charisma about the inclusivity of Queen. Roger really wished he’d been paying attention from the start, because it sort of sounded like Reid wanted to _ manage _ them--but that was crazy. 

It _ was _ crazy, right?

“Ah, thank you Paul.” Reid nodded to an Alpha who had just stepped into the room holding tea. “Paul Pretner,” he explained, accepting the cup and handing over his empty one. “My assistant. He’ll look after you while you’re under EMI contract.”

Considering how much trouble he would cause in the future, Roger paid him very little mind when they were first introduced. There was nothing wrong with Paul, but there wasn’t anything particularly right about him either. Roger considered him rather generic, actually, with short, straight brown hair and unremarkable eyes. He was certainly too plain to have any business eyeing up Freddie, who Roger considered to be one of the most uniquely beautiful men he’d ever met. Still, people loved looking at Freddie and Freddie loved being looked at so it was all good crack, he supposed. Dismissing him for the moment, Roger watched his three friends negotiate with Reid, only clarifying the occasional point and grinning when Freddie answered everything they’d been offered with a little tilt of his head and a declaration that they would want more.

“Every band wants more,” Reid replied. 

“Every band isn’t Queen.”

It wouldn’t have been a surprise if Reid answered that with something condescending. His expression certainly looked it, but then he paused, glancing consideringly towards Freddie. 

“I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

“Cheers!”

“Cheers,” Roger echoed, toasting Brian and Deaky before necking his shot.

They had made it through the day of recording barely believing their luck. By the end, their substantial change in circumstances had finally started to sink in and someone had suggested the pub to celebrate. That seemed like a good enough plan, so here they were. At first the four of them had huddled close around the table, discussing the merits of their current repertoire of songs and agreeing that they could stand to begin laying the groundwork for new ones. Then Freddie had wandered off to the bar and by the time Roger looked up again, he was flirting heavily with an Alpha he didn’t know.

The intrusive thought from his Alpha mind to go over there and do something productive like rip the rival suitor’s face off occurred to him, but Roger was used to blowing it off by now. He and Freddie were as easy as each other, sleeping with a pretty face as soon as shaking their hand. The tension Roger’s Alpha mind took from it was intense; edgeplay that often brought him so close to the edge of confrontation that Roger almost--_almost_\--go off on it, but not quite. 

But he was more than a handful of primitive Dynamic instincts and so shoved the frustration down deep. _ Cry me a fucking river, _ he told his Alpha mind, snagging the shot of vodka Freddie had put his lips on but never finished and downing it in one go. 

“So. What do you think he did to afford replacing the piano?” Deaky finally voiced what they’d all been thinking. 

Exhaling loudly, Roger narrowed his eyes and pressed his empty glass to his forehead. Next to him, Brian nervously twirled a straw between his long fingers. They’d been so relieved by their narrow avoidance of financial ruin that Brian and Deaky has used the small sum they’d scraped together selling their textbooks to buy them all a few rounds with more to come. 

“Whatever it was, it was worth ten thousand quid to someone.”

It was a disconcerting thought.

From the back of his mind, his Alpha instincts let him know that Freddie was moving. Turning, Roger noticed his small body sashay towards the other side of the room, leaving his admirer staring after him. Roger stood abruptly, shifting the table so much that Brian had to snatch two empty glasses from the edge before they fell off. “Anyone want another round? I’m going to get another round.”

“Oh. Well—“

Without waiting for an answer, he legged it to follow Freddie through to the loo.

No one else was about as he stepped in, but Freddie was there at the sinks fixing his hair. He smiled sweetly via the mirror’s reflection at Roger, who kind of felt his heart lurch. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself, darling.” Freddie batted his eyes flirtatiously. “Following me into the loo? People will talk.”

Roger grinned through wisps of golden-blond hair, stepping up close until the front of his body was pressed flush against the back of Freddie’s. Roger’s hands braced against the sink on either side of him, trapping him there. “Let ‘em.”

He didn’t kiss Freddie. Not on the lips anyway. Those were rare, reckless moments that brought their baser instincts to the fore until it was all Roger could do to stop himself sinking his teeth into Freddie’s neck and claiming him for good. Taking a long breath of him in through his nose, Roger let out the warm air right into his left ear. The unique scent of leather and chocolate washed over him with just a hint of smoke; it was so _Freddie_. He felt him shudder in his grip.

“You look good tonight,” Freddie murmured, teasingly pushing his ass back into Roger’s half-hard cock, which he responded to by bending Freddie further over the sink and giving a few quick thrusts through their clothes. Fucking hell, everything about Freddie was like a live wire to Roger’s sex drive. 

“As good as I look, I’m twice that in the sack.”

Breathless and still braced like Roger might finally fuck him then and there, Freddie still managed to snort at his arrogance and give a non committal hum. “I don’t know, darling. I’ve heard you aren’t all that.”

Roger laughed, playfully yanking Freddie around to face him, gripping his hips and picking him up to perch him on the sink. Certainly Roger wasn’t the only one hot and bothered, going by the firm bulge in Freddie’s trousers. Startled by the maneuver, Freddie held on to his shoulders to steady himself, wrapping his legs around Roger’s waist. “Really?”

“Yes, _ really _.”

The blond hummed, twisting his fingers into Freddie’s dark hair and giving it a lazy pull. Into his neck, Roger breathed, “I do have a reputation to protect. Can’t have you going around saying I’m a rotten lay.”

He could imagine Freddie arching a brow at that even as he shifted eagerly in want of friction. “What exactly are you going to do about it?”

Roger moved back up to burrowed into his ear, making Freddie laugh. They stayed like that for a few seconds, holding each other close. They were both still half-hard and it wasn’t the most stunning spot for a cuddle--the pub fresher didn’t smell of roses or anything and some Beta wandered into the toilets in the meantime--but he loved it.

“You should stop buying that scent,” Roger told him absently after a while, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. “It’s pointless and wicked expensive.”

“It’s for _ fashion_,” Freddie retorted and oh my god Roger was _ not _ having this stupid argument with him.

“It smells the same as you do,” Roger pointed out reasonably. He hadn’t even known Freddie had started using _ Omega No. 1 _ until he’d stumbled upon the new bottle of it in their tiny shared bathroom. Considering Roger had Freddie’s scent locked in long before he’d started using the perfume, he knew for a fact it hadn’t changed anything. 

“To _ you _ , it never changes, lovey. It knows the scent that drives you wild and will give you the same one every time. Calling it a chameleon is all wrong; it’s a _ succubus_, darling.”

That was sort of a weird way to phrase it. Roger (who, it had to be said, was certainly not sober) hadn’t thought Freddie was drunk, but he was probably at least tipsy if he was spouting bullshit like that. In any case, that was a bit difficult for his Alpha pride to swallow. He didn’t want Freddie’s scent to change. He _ liked _ that their pheromones were better than drugs to one another. It made Roger think that, no matter how badly he fucked up in life, his favorite person would still like him exactly the way he was.

“You shouldn’t bother with it,” he replied lamely because there was no way he was saying something that sappy in a pub bathroom.

Freddie scoffed. “You’re not in charge of me just yet, dear.”

“No one’s ever going to be in charge of you.” Roger rolled his eyes. “And if any poor sod gets drafted for the job, he ought to quit.”

“Well it was a gift. I didn’t _ buy _ it.” 

Roger almost liked that even less. “From who? A bottle of that stuff is like two hundred quid!”

No answer. A tense silence fell for a handful of seconds until Freddie pushed off the sink and stepped out of his reach, claiming a few feet of distance with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. 

_ Oh not this again. _Roger felt a deep sense of foreboding creep down his spine and settle like a snake in his stomach. 

His cock was definitely losing momentum. Arguing with Freddie could be bloody hot, but not like this; not about something _ real_. 

Freddie didn’t keep secrets from Roger. They were practically codependent and whenever something happened to Freddie—good or bad—Roger inevitably got to hear about it at least twice. Three times if he felt Roger didn’t give a satisfactory reaction the first two. 

But… 

Two or three years ago, there had been a time when Freddie had acted just like this. 

_ Sneaky_. 

Getting packages from that fucking annoying friend of his, Kenny, at all hours of the day and night. 

He’d been convinced that Freddie was in serious trouble. The kind of trouble that explained how suddenly Freddie had all the money he could need for rent, groceries, and even a (secondhand) piano. He had refused to explain and once Freddie decided on something, that was it. After something like a year, the behavior vanished as suddenly as it’d come. Freddie was back to palling around with the three of them and sneaking into Roger’s room in the dead of night to share a fag and cuddle.

Roger had hated the shadiness then and liked it no better now.

“Are you going to tell me how you found the money to replace the piano?” Roger demanded, ignoring the pointed clearing of a throat from the stalls. 

Fuck that guy. He could give Freddie a piece of his mind wherever he fucking pleased, thank you.

“No,” Freddie replied mutinously.

This was the version of Freddie that Roger never quite knew how to handle. He might not technically owe him an answer, but they were tied loosely together by a future Roger might not want _ now _ but did want eventually. He and Freddie had a tendency towards shitty ideas and Roger was worried Freddie had picked one to act on. He was still deciding what to do when the creak of a stall door behind him made them both glance over. 

The man from before wandered out from the loo and started washing his hands a few sinks down. He wasn’t pretending to mind his own business though, side-eying them with a condescending sort of look. Roger knew his type. This was the kind of person that thought that Brian’s hair was too long, Roger was too blond, Deaky talked too much, and Freddie shouldn’t be hanging around any of them.

He shook his head at the mirror in front of him, but Roger knew they were meant to see it.

It was exactly the wrong moment for this kind of shit. 

Roger openly glared. “Go on then. _ What_?”

The stranger pretended not to have heard, likely not expecting to be addressed so directly. When it became clear that Roger and Freddie were both looking at him, he finally gave it up, taking a stance of indignation instead. “I _ beg your pardon_, young man?”

“You’ve clearly got something to say to me. You go on and say it!”

The pub they were at was in a nicer part of town but was neither so posh that Roger’s scuffed trainers stood out nor such a dive that the Beta’s suit jacket appeared strange either. Nevertheless, it was Roger’s threadbare jeans that earned a disapproving once-over. 

Roger stubbornly refused to shove his fists in his pockets. There wasn’t much he had to feel self conscious of--good looks, plenty of friends, an Omega that adored him, and a band on its way up--but money was always a touchy subject. Alphas were supposed to be rich; _ successful_. Well, he and Freddie were both broke but Freddie never let him think on it. He swore up and down that they’d make it big and buy all sorts of expensive and outrageous fashions. Even if Roger didn’t always believe him, it was always a laugh when Freddie strutted about, declaring to Brian in a snooty voice that the cheap wine he’d bought at the corner market was an “excellent vintage” and ordering Deaky to “fetch the fine china, darling” while waving a hand carelessly at the variety of chipped mugs littering their tiny kitchen. 

The way this Beta was looking at him, though, was like he was some kind of street rat.

“You should be ashamed,” the man finally announced, committing fully to his stance after a second. “Dragging that boy down with you.” Here he nodded at Freddie, whose expression was black. “He’s an Omega. He could have a _ proper _ life. Not shack up with some hoodlum good for nothing.”

Roger lunged forward only to be barely held in check by all of Freddie’s strength. 

“Roger, ignore it!” Freddie hissed, pulling hard on his arm. “We can’t afford more trouble. Besides, he’s only old and bitter about it.” Louder, he added with a distasteful glance over at the stranger: “Somewhere out there, a funeral is missing it’s corpse.”

“Give me three minutes and I’ll give ‘em this one!”

A nerve had been struck. 

They were both broke, but the difference was that Freddie could indeed very easily change his station in life. If Omegas were only 0.5% of the population, then male Omegas were 1% of that. They were the partners of royalty and world leaders. Being bonded to one was a status symbol but Freddie had never been the sort of man to settle for being a trophy mate. 

“You haven’t even gotten him to respect you.” 

“You’re right,” Roger replied very seriously to this piece of criticism. Freddie looked suspicious at his change in temperament; rightly so.

Roger got right in his face.

And tickled him.

Freddie let out a surprised laugh, squirming away as Roger followed him, grinning insanely. 

“That’ll teach you!”

“Fuck off!”

“Say you’re sorry.”

Freddie tried to escape, breathless. “No!”

The man looked scandalized by their immaturity which really just made it better. Alphas weren’t meant to engage in such undignified displays after all. Whatever--that was old school thinking. Groovy changes were happening in society and people like this Beta were going to be left in the dust. Love was free. _ Fun _ was free. When his judgemental scoff went ignored, he sort of just crumpled off towards the door, though not before Freddie managed to _ accidentally _elbow him in the scuffle.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Freddie collapsed against Roger, laughing so hard that it made Roger laugh harder. They were both trying to support each other to stand but it just wasn’t working out and only clutching the sink kept them from melting to the floor in a pile of hysteria. 

He loved this. 

Going from barely able to keep their hands off each other to the easy fun they’d always had made Roger feel warm and lovely. Their life together was going to be amazing. Roger didn’t think much of having kids but he knew Freddie wanted loads of cats, which was fine. They’d need a house big enough for Brian and John to come visit and stay over after a night on the town. And because their two friends would certainly marry and spawn, a bit of yard might be nice for a cookout. And a garden. Definitely a basement studio room to record music at three in the morning without earning themselves an angry rant from their neighbors the next day. 

The door next to them suddenly started to swing open. On reflex, Roger caught it and slammed it back shut. “We’re closed!”

Freddie sniggered, covering his mouth as Roger hushed him, grinning madly.

There was a baffled pause before someone knocked.

“Oi uh… Freddie, you in there?”

Their expressions froze. It wasn’t Brian or Deaky out there, so really the only person that might come looking for Freddie by name was that Alpha trying to get a leg over.

“I could stay, darling,” Freddie offered quietly. 

Roger tensed. When Freddie said stuff like that, the meaning was more like “_we _ could stay.” And “_we _” was fucking terrifying.

It was too huge and _ soon_. 

What about sleeping around and flirting in bathrooms and pranking strangers? Roger’s parents had married young too and now they despised each other. He couldn’t stand the thought of hating Freddie--or worse: what if Freddie came to hate _ him_?--and if he screwed things up with him, then that was it. There was no one else for Roger. No one as funny or clever or that made his heart kick up when they walked through the door.

Roger balked.

“No, we should both get laid tonight,” he insisted. Rather rudely, he yanked open the door behind him making Freddie jump back to avoid it.

Any man would be lucky to pick up Freddie, who was small and sweet and looked lovely on anyone’s arm, but it so happened that the sort of Alphas Freddie liked to lay down for were tall with thick, muscular arms and drenched in pheromones that lingered on Freddie’s skin well into the day after they fucked him. Roger couldn’t even convince himself that the Omega didn’t hold the scent there just to piss him off because Freddie really could be a right pistol when he wanted to be.

The brunet Alpha that Freddie had been talking to earlier gave Roger a dismissive once-over that made him bristle before prompting Freddie. “I’m heading out for the night. Are you coming?”

“Not yet,” Freddie replied smoothly. If he was upset, he didn’t let on. “But I sure hope to be, darling.”

He smiled happily enough at Roger and allowed himself to be led away to the door. Freddie was in the practice of taking his lovers to their apartment for the benefit of being in his own territory. He liked knowing where Freddie was incase anything went wrong, but it was difficult for Roger to ignore the smell of an aroused rival Alpha in his domain.

That settled it; he had to fuck someone tonight. The alternative was crashing on Brian’s couch, which was just depressing. 

By the time Roger arrived back at the table where Deaky and Brian were sitting, it was clear that Freddie had already breezed by with his farewells on his way out. They both looked like they were preparing for some kind of intervention, which was the last thing Roger was in the mood for at this point. 

He felt on edge; restless.

Brian opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” Roger warned him, slipping back into his seat.

Ignoring that, Deaky fixed him with an unimpressed look. Nearly as small as Freddie and the youngest of the four, John presented a deceptively mild profile that didn’t match the lethally sharp tongue his bandmates were occasionally treated to. “It’s really hard to feel bad for you when you keep doing this to yourself.”

“These are supposed to be the greatest years of my life,” Roger maintained stubbornly. He refused to concede on this point. His parents’ marriage hung ominously over him, reminding him of what bonding actually looked like. They had never divorced, instead content to whittle away at each other’s happiness until the end of time. “I can fuck anyone willing and nothing can stop me. Nothing counts until we officially start courting.”

“You call him your Omega.”

Roger blinked. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do!” Brian insisted. “You even did it this morning!”

Thinking quickly, Roger replayed as much of that morning as he could remember. He’d been frazzled for sure, but he certainly hadn’t said _ that_. “I think I’d remember calling Freddie something like that!”

Deaky looked skeptical. “Sure, Rog. But really, is this all that great?”

“I’m not settling into a boring married life until I’ve had my fun.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Fred’s a nightmare, but you could hardly put him down as boring.”

Meanwhile, his Alpha mind was absolutely losing its shit. Not only had Roger’s Omega fucked off with someone else, but Roger had practically thrown Freddie away to do it. 

Roger had to give it something—preferably _ quickly _.

“Don’t you think this is getting to be a bit ridiculous though?” Deaky pointed out as Roger began to survey the room. “How long are you going to hold Freddie at arm’s length? You’re twenty-four this year. That’s not too young. Freddie’s twenty-seven. He doesn’t go looking for a quick shag very much anymore unless he’s out with you and sure that _ you’re _ hooking up.”

A bird at the bar met his eye and smiled at him with dazzlingly perfect teeth. Her hair was as light as his own and fell straight as a ruler to her elbows. Everything checked out as someone he’d enjoy a roll in the sack with, but his Alpha mind wasn’t into it and he turned away. 

“Freddie’s having a good time,” Roger answered Deaky distractedly. “He’s fine. We’re fine.” He held the gaze of a redhead this time with a flare of golden freckles and long legs. 

_ No. _

“I just think you should keep in mind that he might be ready for something that you aren’t—” 

At last, he spotted her.

She wasn’t at all what Roger usually went for—Beta girls with lots of curves and long hair. She had a tan coloring to her and shoulder-length coal locks with a slim frame. Roger was still trying to put his finger on why he’d picked her out when she turned around fully and their eyes suddenly met.

She smiled at him through an overbite.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Roger declared abruptly, cutting through more of Deaky’s speech. Brian blinked at him incredulously as he went, and Roger could hear Deaky scoff until he was out of earshot--quickly enough in the blaring noise of the pub. 

Roger ruffled his blond hair appealingly, slipping onto the empty stool beside the girl he’d noticed. Roger could tell she was shorter than him. She could have been Freddie’s twin for all intent and purpose but definitely wasn’t Kash, Freddie’s actual sister. 

She peered up at him coyly with green eyes, but that didn’t matter. 

Not if he did her from behind.

“Hey.”

He was _ fine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Freddie knew the announcement of Omega No. 1 returning as a rut enhancer would be a big deal, but this is almost too much. On top of that, Queen begins to really make noise in the charts and people take a keen interest in the Omega spending so much alone time with two Alphas with only a Beta to supervise.


End file.
